Monday, 7 March 2011

Damned Foreigners.

One thing that Thailand definitely has is good manners. Pretty much every Thai person could be a member of Polite Club. They are warm, helpful and grateful and it makes you feel good being in their company. Not that everyone I met in Thailand was gracious. No. Some of them were out and out cunts. They were British.

The average British ex-pat is probably the worst type of person you'll ever meet. No-one would listen to their constant bollocks at home so they move to another country to shout constant bollocks at people who can't understand them. They don't like the weather here, the Government here or the pesky Age of Consent Laws here so they must move. They are fat (even the thin ones), evil bastards who hate Britain soooooooooo much that they just had to get away to a far off land and hang out with other British people in a British theme pub. And if you meet one you are doomed to hear this: "I would never go back. Why would I go back? Look at what I have here. I have everything I could want. I don't know how you could live in Britain, mate. It's paradise here and I'm never coming back". This is followed by the fucking horrible prick dropping to his knees and begging for HP Sauce. Gee, Mister, if only there was a country where you could fuck kids AND have PG Tips, eh?

After Phuket we went to Hua Hin and a hotel that was heartbreakingly perfect. It was in a jungle, by the beach and everything it had to offer was beautiful. The people who worked there were the pinnacle of grace and manners. When was the last time you went to a Travel Inn and were offered a glass of juice made from flowers grown in bliss? Then we had to do a gig. A cunting gig.

This was never going to work. A British ex-pat gig in an estate agent's office? Good fucking grief. What fucking estate agents has a fucking stage in it? Hot Property in Hua Hin, apparently. The audience talked the whole way through the show, they talked on the phone loudly while the show was on and they thought nothing about walking across the stage to get to the bar while the show was on. They just didn't give a fuck. They've spent so much of the last few years shouting at and pushing at "foreigners" that they have no concept of how to treat other human beings. One cunt started the debate on whether I was British or Irish so before I strangled him I introduced Nick Doody to the stage and sat seething in a corner. A fucking shrieking twat who was constantly "contributing" to the evening sat near me talking and talking and talking and talking and saying absolutely nothing so eventually I said to her "Do you ever shut the fuck up?" She laughed. She laughed because she didn't get it. She didn't get the plain and simple fact that she was irredeemably awful. None of them did. I told them often enough but none of them understood that I genuinely hated them. None of them ever simply realised that the reasons they didn't fit in in the UK are the exact same reasons that they are loathed in Thailand. I don't say this lightly but if they were dead the world would be a better place.

Luckily a few people came up after the show to register their disgust at the rest of the audience. A few did. Not enough though. The rest of them went back to shouting, groping their teenage wives and getting fatter so they'd have more room for their tattoos.

We went back to our beautiful hotel in paradise so I could drink alcohol and complain about those people. I have never said cunt so often in such beautiful surroundings. I wanted to just stay there and say cunt as the sun rose. Lovely.

Then it was two days in Bangkok and home again. Those gigs in Bangkok were the best of the trip. The trip was a blast the whole time really and the company was great. But I'm home now and everything is back to normal. It's so good to know that, after that one night of British ex-pat horror, we can still be right bastards on our own turf.

Since I got back I've seen the worst kitchen salesman ever. He just stood in the middle of Lewisham Shopping Centre saying "Kitchen". Not shouting it, not whispering it out of embarrassment, just saying it. "Kitchen". I could have watched him all day. "Kitchen. (Pause for 10 seconds) Kitchen. (Pause) Kitchen". I just wanted an sharp suited American from the 1930's to go up to him and say "Hey, kid. I'm a Hollywood producer and I've seen your act. You got the goods".

Then, while washing my hands in a public loo, I saw a man putting on aftershave. He kept staring and smiling at me but saying nothing. He just stood there smiling and putting on aftershave. Finally we made eye contact. His smile got bigger and he said "No splash, no gash". I left.

The worst person since my return might be one of the biggest cunts I've ever seen in my life. As I left Leicester Square Tube Station on Thursday I saw a man nicking a Big Issue. HE STOLE A FUCKING BIG ISSUE. What a cunt. You don't STEAL Big Issues. That's literally the last thing you ever do. That's like wanking in the letterbox of an Orphanage or tipping Jesus out of his wheelchair. You just don't do it. And there he was. A grown man in real life stealing a Big Issue and then running away. He got to the top of the stairs and turned to look at the vendor. He was laughing and ripping up the Big Issue. People saw him and did nothing. I saw him and did nothing. We all just watched. We watched and we pitied. What a stupid, poor, awful sod. He thinks it's funny to steal from a homeless person and is in no way ashamed of that fact. Well, congratulations, my friend. If you wanted pity from a homeless person you got it. The vendor just raised her eyebrows and gave a look that said "Wow. I thought I had problems".

I pity him but I pity Thailand, or any other country, more. I think we're sending you another one.